100 words every day

2011-08-10T21:27:00.002-04:00

I know,

I said it was over

And yet here I am.

I do that with men sometimes.

The painful dragging on of something doomed.

New York isn’t done with me,

That’s all.

I wanted to see it from above.

On the deck my rolleicord

Seduced the security guard.

-Never seen anything like that.

Can you get FLIM for that?

Didn’t know you could!

Meanwhile a man

Jumps over the glass.

The guard starts to run

And yell.

The man just sits there.

His feet hanging

seventy floors in the air,

A spiderman backpack,

An American flag on his face.

This is the end

2011-08-09T14:56:00.005-04:00

My only friend, the end.

Maybe. After all I'm leaving New York on Saturday. New city, new life, new blog?
We'll see. I might turn 100 words into a book. With illustrations and such. Thanks for reading.

2011-08-06T19:40:00.008-04:00

I claim a car

Before the train stops.

I get attached to a particular seat

The one beside the woman

With orange sandals

Reading a crumpled New Yorker.

The policeman on the Myrtle Avenue platform

Walks towards me smiling.

-Nice camera,

Almost as old

As that building you’re photographing.

I smile back.

I can smell the Fall

Today.

I’ve been sleeping better

At night.

It’s a graceful dance

For a Woman

A Fan

And a Top Sheet.

Regardless of the menstrual cramps

(quite puzzling on a third day)

And the headaches

And the mild grief

This life

Qualifies

As fine.

2011-08-04T20:02:00.004-04:00

I just used the last drop

Of my ecological laundry detergent.

I bought it in January

When I moved to New York.

My head wants to explode

Today.

I might let it.

You always leave after lunch

On those rare Mondays I get to see you

When you drive here for her.

You want to avoid rush hour,

All those people with real jobs.

You also don’t want

To start missing

The old life.

I know this

Because I miss it too.

You gave me quarters,

I was out of American coins.

It’s brutal what we do

Without meaning to.

2011-08-02T21:49:00.000-04:00

My favorite roommate left

For good

A moment ago.

Since I came back from Italy

I feel oh so sentimental.

At the Met

People think

They’re supposed to look at art

But all they’re thinking about

Is the Petrie Court Café.

I could use a cup of tea

Myself.

And a man.

Someone who’ll sip oolong

And look at me with love

While he firmly holds my hand.

It’s normal to feel lonely

Here.

Thank goddess

I got over Him.

Now I promise I’ll behave

No silly crushes

Or shallow breathing.

Up at seven

Drink more water

Apply for Medicaid.

2011-08-01T18:51:00.001-04:00

I will love everyone

If just for a second.

On the crowded bus in Rome

I observe my compatriots.

A woman with a big yellow skirt

Is holding a giant panino like a fan.

A guy hops in

He’s carrying a fat leather bag

Wearing headphones

And a pearl necklace.

I decide to stare at him.

Remind me, why do I hate this city?

So much beauty everywhere

And nights are infinitely nicer,

I sleep like a baby,

The song of cicadas

In my ears.

Vacanze Romane are one thing

Growing up here another

But that might just suck

Anywhere.

2011-07-28T05:37:00.001-04:00

In my mother’s car

In Sicily

We listened to mixed tapes

I made in 1992.

Back then

I still counted

Each time I took a plane,

Every single one a step

Towards adventure and adulthood.

I recently stopped counting

Something else.

After New York I don’t even know

What counts as sex

And some of those

I prefer to forget,

The landing was rough.

My last Italian lover

Had been six years ago

So yesterday

In bed

My mouth spoke English.

My first non-Italian lover

Was Dutch

He expected me to say

Exactly

What I wanted him to do.

2011-07-26T18:07:00.003-04:00

I miss home.

Home is not Rome.

Home is Chicago.

I was there just for three days

In June.

I didn’t even like it.

If felt small and unexciting.

But decisions are everything

And I made mine.

Who is this person I am becoming?

I usually can’t even decide what to eat.

That’s why I like restaurants

That will just bring you food,

Not menus.

As long as it’s all vegan.

Matthew used to say

That I’m afraid of missing out.

Like Britney Spears in that Youtube video.

She’s stoned and sad,

At her philosophical peak,

Munching on French fries.

2011-07-23T20:01:00.003-04:00

I am getting tan

My eyes look more intense

When my skin is dark.

Mediterranean nights

Remind me of sex.

Sounds.
Smells.

This is my loneliest summer

Since high school.

Love seems unreal like back then,

Romanticized hormonal urges.

My maternal grandfather

Before marrying his wife

Fell in love with someone

From Rome.

She dumped him

He bought himself

A banjo,

Got over her,

Resigned himself

To a life without Eros.

Will he regret it

For the rest of his life?

I get obsessed with people

Out of boredom

And impatience.

I almost called someone tonight.

Good thing I didn’t.

2011-07-22T18:47:00.009-04:00

Italy reminds me of painful things.

Previous selves,

A younger,

Elfish,

More beautiful me.

I told my father

How his grandmother died

He truly didn’t know

That sad dirty secret.

I drank, ate and biked

With my best friend

Who isn’t just a friend,

(We both know that

And it’s fine,

But we really should have sex

Some time,

Since his girlfriend wouldn’t mind).

Now I am in Sicily

Visiting my grandparents

Feeling angry

And guilty

Because they make each other miserable

And I just want to leave.

I wish I knew happy old people.

I would dread birthdays less.

2011-07-18T16:00:00.002-04:00

My cat didn’t notice

I abandoned her,

But my apartment did.

It doesn’t smell like me anymore.

Television sets

Have invaded the space

They won’t let the stereo breathe.

My reading lamp

Is lying on its side,

Crippled.

Lost are the keys

To my bicycle’s lock,

And all good pots are gone

From my kitchen.

It isn’t home

If you can’t cook dinner.

I feel anxiety mounting

So I have a glass of the Cointreau

We took from my dead Grandfather’s place.

Mine looks soulless like his did

When my father and I sat brooding in it,

After his burial.

2011-07-15T22:30:00.005-04:00

You disappeared without a word.

It’s all for the best

Since I’m leaving New York anyway

But don’t I deserve words?

Look,

I’m writing them for strangers right now

Hasn’t someone you held all night

Twice

Earned the right

To not be treated like a thing?

I will treat every step

As a step towards enlightenment

Or at least towards you,

Unknown Chicagoan

I will fall in love with.

What are you doing

As I’m packing my bag?

Are you petting your cat?

Writing a song about koalas?

Koalas are the sweetest animals

On earth

And they smell like eucalyptus.

2011-07-13T22:50:00.003-04:00

To conquer my ennui

I tried to see The Future

At the MoMA.

It was sold out.

Miranda July was there

I could have asked her

If she wanted to be my friend.

I need a friend today.

I can tell it’s bad

When I won’t stop eating.

I just had three desserts:

Mango with sticky rice

Carrot cake cupcake

Raspberry white chocolate cheesecake.

Now I’m on the J

And I feel nauseous,

Which is better than sad.

I will see my cat soon

She will be happy to see me

She won’t know I’ve been away

For fifteen months.

2011-07-13T10:37:00.004-04:00

Yesterday when I woke up

I thought I was going to see

A friend.

After checking my e-mail

I also thought I had found

An apartment in Chicago

And a blue VW van to buy.

Plus,

Breakfast was delicious.

As the day progressed

Things didn’t look as bright.

Everything fell through

Though I guess

I still have taste buds

On my tongue,

And I did make a ton

Of quinoa salad

For today.

I will need energy

Since I’m starting from scratch

Again.

It sort of stopped being funny

Long ago.

My frontal lobes

I assure you

Are intact.

2011-07-12T19:46:00.003-04:00

I’m sitting at a booth

In a laundromat

On Broadway.

Today there is a heat wave

In New York.

An air-conditioned space

Crowded with fat ladies

Is a good place to be.

It makes thinking easier:

I know

That you won’t call

And not because you’re busy.

We both knew

My speech about Germanic men

Applied to you as well,

My eagle-eyed friend,

But we pretended otherwise.

I am so used to this

That it feels acceptable,

Like an old scar that hurts

A little

When it’s damp.

I must have thought

It would be different.

But how.

2011-07-11T14:39:00.005-04:00

Yesterday I drank absinthe

At the Lone Wolf bar.

There were artists everywhere,

And not enough air.

I walked to the bar next door

Where a bassist and a drummer

Wearing threatening masks

Were fighting some kind of war,

Sweat shining on their bare chests.

I sat at the bar,

Mildly entertained.

A man asked me if I was Betty.

(Another victim of online dating?)

He proceeded to buy me a drink

And talk my ear off

While I stared at my phone.

It always takes you ten hours

To write back.

Another girl would give up,

But not Miss Vella.

2011-07-10T12:16:00.007-04:00

Sundays feel hopeful.

It is something I learned

When I was a kid.

Sundays have lost their meaning,

Since I haven’t been in school for ages

And I haven’t had a normal job

Since when I tried

And failed

To be a real person.

I am a collection

Of disjointed feelings

Glued together

By occasional concepts

Art.

Love.

Grief.

I really spend my days

Breathing in and out

Wondering who ate my avocados

Or sitting in front of my computer

Like right now,

My lungs compressed

Because of shame,

Sadness,

Longing

And unrealistic

Hopes

Of redemption,
A witless coyote.

2011-07-08T23:54:00.008-04:00

If Bill Callahan showed up at my door

Right now

I would marry him.

Seeing him play

Will be nice too.

After all who needs a husband.

I do have an extra ticket though,

Please apply within.

Especially if you love

Quinoa salad

White sand

Robert Wyatt singing Moon in June

You named your horse Ariel

You want to camp in the Sahara desert

Build a straw bale house in the woods

But live in Brooklyn

If you can play the dulcimer

Or the lute.

Let’s tango on an Icelandic glacier

Use kenningar instead of boring words

From now on.

2011-07-07T16:41:00.002-04:00

I know that I seem ridiculous,

Jumping to conclusions.

I might exaggerate

But I know

I’m right.

I can’t contain myself,

I went overboard,

So now I’m left with nothing,

Again.

I remember talking on the phone

In the North Carolina woods

To someone who loved me

More than I could ever love him.

“If you leave me

you’ll let predators in.

They’ll bite.

You’ll suffer.

Nobody can love you like I do.”

I knew he was right

I still had to jump,

Say farewell to comfort,

Welcome anxiety,

Accept I would be the more loving one,

From then on.

2011-07-07T10:20:00.003-04:00

Time to get fettered again

My friends,

Let’s find a few willing gods

A cat’s footfall,

A woman’s beard

The spittle of birds.

It’s important to do it soon

Before it gets out of hand,

Pun not intended, Tyr.

I won’t bite you this time

I won’t bite anyone

I just need restraint

But how can I tie up myself?

My mouth would lie to my ears

Proclaim that I am nurturing,

Selfless

Shuffling those cards

For everyone’s good.

Wielding my giant eraser

Because we’re out of paper

And we need new drawings,

New tunes,

A little bit of blood.

2011-07-05T10:57:00.002-04:00

I get greedy

More often than not.

I should make my own fire

To warm my bones.

I remind myself

That I shouldn’t want anything

That isn’t freely given

And usually it works

For about five minutes.

Soon I’m back

To my usual hunger.

My mind knows

I should sit every morning.

That would take care of it.

I know many things

But I don’t really know them,

My animal side is always stronger.

I wonder why I despise my intellect

When it is so much wiser than my flesh

So spoiled,

Craving raspberries

Kisses

Piercing gazes

Words of love.

2011-07-04T23:39:00.002-04:00

Sometimes I wonder

If I’m filling my life with adventures

Just so that I can later write letters

To my Canadian friend Karin.

I think I might need an audience

More than real companions.

They would hold me to my word

Make me face the truth,

All of it,

Not just the shiny

Or ridiculously funny

Parts.

So far loneliness

Has worked

For me,

I panic less

I entertain myself

I fabricate glorious futures.

But not for long.

Eventually

All I crave

Is intimacy

And only a rare breed

Will do,

A fearless warrior.

I am a princess,

After all.

2011-07-03T18:40:00.008-04:00

Yesterday I spent my day waiting.

Eventually the sun set.

I was sitting on a bench

in Father Demo Square.

As I was losing hope

A firefly came to say hello.

I conquered my entomophobia,

Hoping it would let me pet it.

Later I thought it came back

But no, just car lights on metal.

It’s dark now

I’m listening to King Crimson

My eyes are closed.

A tap on my shoulder.

It’s not Him.

“I’m sorry,

I had to tell you,

Your feet are beautiful.”

“Well. Thanks”

I say.

Even fetishists

Will do

When you need

A confidence boost.

2011-07-01T12:04:00.000-04:00

My life would be better

If I didn’t stalk my ex on Tweeter.

Such are the things I do when I’m bored.

Instead of processing film

Writing a novel

Painting a gigantic mural

I choose to indulge petty predispositions.

Why isn’t anybody taking

On a road trip?

This is a stupid question.

I should ask:

Why don’t I know anybody

I would go on a road trip with?

I have lived too long

Not to be picky

When it comes to traveling companions.

I feel like an old cat lady

Craving a solitary bike ride

Over the Williamsburg bridge.

2011-06-30T13:16:00.002-04:00

Dear Sun,

Besides cancer

You give me happiness

When there are waves nearby

And sand that will stick to my legs.

I didn’t go to Brighton Beach

Because a girl was murdered there

Two weeks ago.

Rockaway was nice anyway

Full of tattoos

Surfboards

And jelly plankton.

On my journey back on the J

I looked at my toes.

They looked like

Italian breaded meat.

How not to feel joyous

And smile at fellow travelers

While listening to America.

When you’re rich,

Valentina,

You will buy a house on a beach

Trying to make up

For being old

And lonely.

2011-06-23T13:30:00.006-04:00

In Chicago I learned

That somebody who hangs out

In underground Paris

Is called a “cataphile.”

There are halls

Tunnels

And catacombs

Down there

Filled with art,

Human skulls

And bones.

People who had birthdays,

Friends

Lovers

And flesh

Once.

The graduate student

Who keeps an eye on the museum

Is cute and nice

Like everybody else

In the Midwest.

On my plane back to New York

The captain gave his usual speech

And then with an almost broken voice

He added:

“I looooove my job.”

I loved him for a minute

And then went back to talking to myself.

2011-06-23T00:55:00.002-04:00

When I lived in South Carolina

I made my own tortillas

Sprouted seeds

Made raw bread with a dehydrator.

Penland changed my diet for worse

And everything else for better.

I gained a few kilos,

Faced the end of love,

Started making good work.

Now instead of having nervous breakdowns

Because I can’t find my keys

Or waking up crying because I’m a failure

And feeling dead all the time

I am definitely alive

If certainly aging.

Look,

I’m 32 today.

Stuck in my twenties.

My thighs are too big

My teeth are fake

My toes quite hairy and horrible.

2011-06-20T12:22:00.001-04:00

If I believed in invisible forces

Shaping our lives

I would have to say that New York

Is a hub

Where these energies converge.

At first it’s hard to be there

We aren’t used to that power.

We have to adapt to a higher voltage.

A thousand kilometers away

An old man needs help

With his map.

-Sorry, I’m not from here,

I say,

-I’m from New York.

It isn’t an accurate statement

So I laugh at myself

But existentially it is.

New York and I are a 99% match.

I want to love Chicago.

But where’s the dopamine rush?

2011-06-16T00:01:00.003-04:00

I’m pretty sure gluten

Makes me sick

Which in Italy is like saying:

Sorry, I’m allergic to food.

Maybe that’s why I’m happier here.

Or maybe I’m just a disgusting narcissist

And I was tired of being ignored

By men and teachers.

Here I get attention

All the time

Firefighters shout hello

When I pass them by

On my bike

And artists like my work.

I’m so used to my new tribe

That when I’m in New Jersey

Just across the river

The sight of inelegant women

Outside a bar

Suddenly reminds me

We haven’t taken over the world.

Yet.

2011-06-15T15:56:00.003-04:00

His arms were sexy

The darkroom dark

One night we were drunk

After working hard in the studio

He held me and softly told me

She was waiting for him

In Tennessee.

He wouldn’t let her down.

I was dying for a kiss,

I feverishly walked

To my dorm.

Prehistorical facts.

Since then I’ve been kissed by eight people

Embraced non-monogamy

Walked down city streets

Overhearing conversations:

“I’ve danced with David Smirnoff”

“He doesn’t strike me as suave!”

I wash my roommates’ dishes

Get 1.2 compliments a day.

Whatever you’ve done

Or will,

You are forgiven.

Go in peace.

2011-06-13T16:38:00.005-04:00

I have my period again

But I won’t complain:

I’m not carrying around

A bean sized human being.

Hallelujah.

I’m surrounded

By English accents

From three continents,

A playwright

Who studied at Cambridge and Columbia

Who never fails

To offer coffee,

Dying plants that need love,

Theater props,

Hats and mandolins.

The mat next to my desk

Is warning me:

Any activity

Involving motion

Height

Speed

Rotations

And/or physical contact

Creates the possibility of serious injury

Including paralysis

And even death.

I will keep that in mind

And for today I will limit myself

To leaps of the imagination.

2011-06-09T15:26:00.003-04:00

I thought Rome was hot in June

I didn’t know anything

I keep making mistakes.

I go downstairs where it’s cooler

And I’m still dripping sweat

All I want to do is hug an iceberg.

Who cares about art.

At four in the morning I left my loft bed

And lay on the floor

Thinking about how sad it is

That he’s in love with her.

It feels wrong somehow.

I don’t care that they’re having kinky sex

But the poems he writes about her

Are good.

I was his poetic gym

I deserve a percentage

At the very least.

2011-06-08T23:54:00.005-04:00

DANGER

3rd RAIL ALIVE.

At times it is impossible

To feel anything.

If I threw myself on the tracks

My skin would fry

My heart would stop

And maybe my thoughts

Would disappear

Like my still born thesis on Shakespeare

That died with my old ibook.

Or maybe instead

My consciousness

Would merge with the subway’s,

With its anxiety, desire and darkness.

A kind doctor would revive me,

I would walk away

With all that knowledge.

Instead I go to SoHo

And buy myself a raspberry cheesecake

From a girl all covered in pink

Because it’s either all

Or nothing.

2011-06-07T23:49:00.002-04:00

Where else but here

Would a tour guide

Hold up his lightsaber

To be better seen

Among

Trees

Fountains

And Sol LeWitt sculptures?

I am leisurely walking

To a job interview of sorts

Without knowing that I’m going East

Instead of West,

As usual.

I sit on a bench to study a map.

My neighbor is studying a screenplay.

Two Amish women

With their bearded partners

Are studying the lightsaber.

That big splashy fountain

Reminds me of Rome

I wonder if boring people

Throw coins in there

Like back home.

I glance over the edge.

The answer is yes.
Pennies.

2011-06-06T22:42:00.004-04:00

One of the few valuable lessons

I still remember

from an

Angry

Self-absorbed

Method acting

Guru

who claimed to be a Zen Master,

Is that being comfortable is bad.

At the time I didn’t understand.

I was suffering so much

I didn’t need any more pain.

But now I know

It isn’t about pain

It’s about accepting some discomfort

Like the sharp cold water

When you’re entering the sea.

It will keep us awake through life.

I am new to Brooklyn,

Once again I’m born again

I haven’t seen mosquitoes yet

But I can hear their telepathic war cries.

2011-06-05T02:01:00.003-04:00

Today I took a sewing class.

It took me ages to re-learn

How that bloody machine works.

My eyelids drop,

Like in front of an equation.

But I could become a seamstress

If my life depended on it.

And somehow I wish it did.

Later I explored

The Bushwick Open Studios,

Studying the makers

Rather than their work.

People are animated!

Unlike machines

And most art.

They all asked me about mine.

Do I look so obvious?

Or is it just assumed

That only artists

Would care enough to go?

Then how,

Pray tell,

Will we pay our bills?

2011-06-03T23:59:00.006-04:00

Should I watch
The Odd Couple tonight

Or figure out whether

I should move to Chicago

And get in debt

For the rest of my life?

People want to talk to me online.

They project their fantasies on me.
Who knows what they believe they see.

A pair of beautiful eyes,

A tormented soul,

Someone who will tuck their sheets in.

I am too old to play this game,

I can’t like anyone really,

Only a little bit.

Drops from a dripping faucet.

The tea you squeeze out of an old teabag.

Leaving is easy.

Time to master your curtsey.

2011-06-02T13:22:00.003-04:00

It’s never enough.

The complete disclosure,

The whole pornographic deal.

Tell me if you get it or not.

Will you embrace it

Or reject it?

Call the police,

Take me to Court,

Scream,

Stab me,

Wield your Weapon.

It’s easy to space out.

This is not my Land.

I will always have that excuse.

But what about you?

Will you be braver?

Own your cowardice?

Admit you don’t know a thing?

Why is the G train shorter than the F?

I’ll lie on the side of the road.

Even when all is fulfilled desire

There remains a life to live.

2011-05-31T18:33:00.013-04:00

The subway is by far

My favorite place for writing.

Global earthquake:

The greatest ever!

Your elderly father needs

Around-the-clock care.

Stop smoking

Before your kids start

What’s new?

Less mystery

GETTHISBOOK.COM.

I will miss the A

When I move to Brooklyn.

The long ride

Between 125^thand 59^th

Enough for a whole

Soft Machine song.

And I will miss everything

About this City
That once terrified me

Sidewalk BBQs

Hello Mama

Hello Pretty Lady

Your business is appreciated

The obnoxious Ice Cream truck

When many years from now

I’m riding horses in Wyoming

Or growing mangoes in Hawaii.

2011-05-29T22:46:00.002-04:00

At the BBQ I drank too much rosé.

At parties like this I remember

that I’m not a social person.

It dawns on me abruptly

like when I realize

I left my glasses on the bench.

I did that so many times yesterday

I’m surprised you didn’t leave.

Waiting in front of the elevator’s door

I usually stare at the fallout shelter sign

but never think about it.

Today I did though

because of an article I read.

The government knew very well

that shelters were a total scam

but

keep calm

carry on

pack another can

of pinto beans.

2011-05-27T16:51:00.003-04:00

I’m out for a run in the sun.

Coming back

through the back door

I meet the super of my building

taking out the trash.

Can I ask you a question?

he says

Sure.

Why are you TOO beautiful?

Considering that my face is red

and I’m covered in sweat,

my hair a tangled mess,

I feel sincerely moved.

I smile very wide.

No, I really want to know!

he says.

Well. I’m Italian.

He doesn’t look convinced.

I could have told him

that I don’t eat meat

and I don’t have a job I hate

or any, in fact.

2011-05-26T22:27:00.001-04:00

Today is my last day of work

at the best papermaking studio

in America

and I can’t go gentle into the night.

As I am getting changed,

everybody leaves,

and I get locked inside.

I try to get out,

the alarm goes off.

I imagine the police

storming in

tying me up

hopefully saying

something ridiculous

that I will later use in a poem.

I call my boss.

She doesn’t answer.

Her voicemail is full.

As I wait I read the notes

I received today.

I will show them to the officer.

Please, don’t hurt me.

Somebody

somewhere

loves me.

2011-05-24T23:28:00.009-04:00

I feel thankful

for having been spared

from knowing my future.

The picture of all those

ups and downs

(falling in

and out of love,

the exhilaration

of moving to a new country,

and then a new city,

and then a new neighborhood,

seeing myself as better

than my father,

then realizing

I am him,

the same silly mind,

the same inconstant fire)

would have been incomprehensible.

The doing of a trickster God.

But day by day,

Matthew would say

this feels like normal.

It’s like making pesto in the Spring

and waking up to the kiss of a lover.

2011-05-22T15:28:00.003-04:00

I am so full of forgiveness:

nobody did

anything wrong.

I’ll stop feeding demons

that aren’t even sexy.

I refuse to compete,

I am stomping my feet,

I am 131 years old.

Pretty young for an elf,

and ready to meet

his new girl

because

yes,

I often find her gross

but I am gross too,

regardless of what

New York boys

think.

My Italian facial muscles

are just hard to read,

and it works both ways:

tall, blonde, well-bred

blue-eyed Americans

come straight from a movie

and I have to touch them

to make sure they’re real.

2011-05-20T11:45:00.006-04:00

Getting my period feels like my body

has given up on me.

I refuse to conceive a human being

so nature takes revenge

by making me feel lousy.

Everything hurts

and a moldy sweet potato

looks sexier than me.

Period mornings feel especially hard

when you’re out of food

and your neck is so stiff that the prospect

of walking to the store

(in the rain)

terrifies you.

But everything’s a cycle.

In less than two weeks

I’ll be in my sexual and intellectual peak,

and I will get in trouble

because of smiling

and jumping

and talking too much.

2011-05-19T21:56:00.002-04:00

When I’m not complaining about the present

or making fun of things that I could cry about

I tend to have nostalgic thoughts.

Fantasize about loss.

But you know that already.

My father’s second wife is on facebook now.

I had a sneaky look at her pictures.

In one she’s just fifteen.

My mother used to call her

THE SLUT

and I can’t blame her for hating her.

We all do.

But in that picture

I see a beautiful girl

who looks like my brother,

enjoying her youth.

Sunlight

filters through the pine trees

above.

I don’t hate that girl.

2011-05-17T17:50:00.001-04:00

I ate too much soup today.

I just didn’t want to look for a container

so I figured my stomach

could contain it all.

Bad idea.

It made me feel sleepy

and then all I could do was

watch Jackie Brown

on my bed.

I had fourteen things on my list today

and eating wasn’t even on it.

Maybe to jumpstart my new productive life

I can start listing obvious stuff

so I can at least cross something off it.

I am beating myself up again,

I know. How boring.

How can I stop being me?

Someone should take over.

2011-05-16T20:14:00.003-04:00

We were supposed to get matching tattoos

for our wedding.

Farm animals

or owls

who are not what they seem.

Instead

we waited

because we were never good at making decisions.

You left them all to me.

And while I know I can come up

with the PERFECT PLAN,

I really wish I was an elf

because it might take me a quarter of a century,

and my hair will be all white by then.

So now you have a tattoo that matches hers.

Not really,

yours is a silly butterfly

and hers an even sillier hot-dog,

but still.

2011-05-15T23:05:00.005-04:00

What I like about this city

is that unbelievable things

are constantly happening

if you have the patience to find out

and don’t mind overstimulation.

If I want,

I can

take free fencing lessons

in Bryant park

get the key to a secret roof garden

for twenty bucks a year

(I actually have it

in my hand right now,

it is golden and shiny)

kayak for free on the Hudson

at pier forty or ninety-six.

And then of course

there are all the people.

Sexy

smart

artistic

with dual citizenship

and Ivy League degrees.

I might need a vacation.

2011-05-14T17:24:00.003-04:00

New York has been invaded by Romans.

The ones who look like tennis players

and that I would never

ever

want to talk to.

But maybe I miss home

so I walk in figure eights around them

while waiting for the F.

I feel cool for half a second

because they’re tourists

while I live here now!

But then I remember

how despicable I am,

buying a latte

at the Empire State Building’s Starbucks,

supporting evil corporations just because I feel weak

and need some cardboard-tasting caffeine

before heading to the Library

where I won’t get anything done

anyway.

2011-05-13T16:38:00.000-04:00

Since the day I realized

that I probably like tricksters

because I am one myself

I have truly embraced

my Loki nature.

I know I need

someone to match me,

NOT adore me,

hold my hand,

promise everlasting love.

I want a wolf to wrestle with.

Someone who wants to bite

and get bitten.

Most wolves I meet

are fine with nibbling,

but I must taste like trouble:

over

and over

again

all I’m left with

is fresh tracks in the snow.

My optimistic theory

is that they were sheep in disguise.

Next time I will examine those fangs,

first.

2011-05-11T13:31:00.003-04:00

When you’re sick

dreams are more vivid.

I woke up with a phrase

ringing in my head:

“Now we just have to wait

for it to happen again.”

I have no idea what the dream was about

but I am pleased with those words.

They evoke cyclical time

Loki’s son biting its tail

plus a faint smell of hope.

The possibility

of righting wrongs

dodging disaster

looking left before the intersection

counting to ten before speaking.

Most wrong turns are subtle

though.

They have a way

of not looking

important

at all.

Chances are I would still
mess everything up.

2011-05-10T23:57:00.004-04:00

I’m listening to Nina Simone

on the subway platform.

A woman who looks a bit like her

(let’s pretend)

asks me where I bought my bag.

-Turkey.

I say.

She looks puzzled.

-It’s GORGEOUS.

Technically it was my father

who gave it to me.

A long tradition of gifts

from faraway lands

full of lovers and AIDS conferences

to make up for being a pretty bad dad.

Soon after I got that bag

He did something I didn’t quite enjoy.

The next day

Matthew and I

filed for my immigrant visa.

It’s reassuring to think about that Ocean

out there.

200 words since I'm bad

2011-05-09T20:02:00.002-04:00

Since the day I cut that rope

that was keeping the bomb

from ticking

I became many different things

for different people:

the letter-writing heartbroken girl

in love with the words of an ex-soldier

the older seductress

the detached lover

the destroyer of dreams

and finally

the spontaneous creature

who can’t wait to lose her head

and her underwear

when she truly likes someone

at last

even if she’s only known him

for an hour.

Now some people hate me

some love me

a few despise me

and the last one thinks I’m nuts.

This is the one that hurts.

Still better than being a wife

with a golden retriever

or a baby to feed

but it is with bitterness

that I proclaim these skinless days

over.

Just in time for the Summer

I am going to buy myself

an atmospheric pressure diving suit

to roam the streets of New York in

and scare the tourists.

Eventually it will weigh me down.

Jumping in the Hudson

will feel like something normal

at first

and then it will be strange

and rich

that underwater world

of pearls that were his eyes

and seaweed tangled

in our home from home.

2011-05-04T13:30:00.005-04:00

This morning I woke up

and on igoogle I read about Yvette.

She starred in horror movies

and was Playboy’s centerfold

in the fifties.

She’s been found

mummified

on her bed in L.A.

It’s not uncommon,

they say.

Nobody saw her for four months

And no one cared.

A scene straight out of Lynch.

Yesterday I was helping Jasmine

with her Italian

while drinking mojitos

and eating carrot cake.

“I don’t wan’t to die alone.”

She’s twenty.

“You’re not going to,

darling.”

I’m hugging her.

“Or wait, we all are.”

What happens once we’re dead

shouldn’t matter but it does.

2011-05-03T12:35:00.000-04:00

If you are mildly narcissistic

and not enough people

are reading your blog

just make yourself a profile

on the dating site

every New Yorker is on

and be sure to paste a link

to your silly website.

It helps if you’re somewhat pretty

and mysterious.

Your friend Mr. Testosterone will guide

male fingertips to your words

you’ll see the numbers spike

on StatCounter

at last.

I’m not making fun of my readers

I do value their opinion

especially if I like their noses

and their eyes are blue.

I might even invite them

to 3rd Ward this Friday.

2011-05-02T19:58:00.007-04:00

It took my ex eight trips

to bring me all my stuff

and yet

my ski boots are still in his closet

and what about the books I compulsively bought

in used bookstores all over Philadelphia?

All those pages that will never be read

since we don’t really love the same novels

while certainly agreeing on all the classics.

His car smells like home,

adventures,
and disasters.

For a minute I feel nostalgic

but soon I am too busy

searching for the closest

perfect

vegan
place

where we’ll talk about everything

even Kendra

and I’ll tell him about my lovers.

2011-05-01T23:55:00.002-04:00

When I become a vegan

what will I eat at openings like this?

I will only munch on crackers

while eyeing the fancy dresses

and the long skinny legs

underneath.

If I lived in a gallery

I would sleep on rubber mats

that look like intestines

drink wine and eat cheese

observe the beautiful women

with their unique styles

and tattoos

a perfect circle on each foot

their lovers' favorite kissing spot.

As I wash my hands in the sink

I meet my eyes in the mirror

and realize I am one of them

whether I like it or not.

2011-04-26T12:48:00.003-04:00

When I first got here

I felt the way I feel

when I meet a dark and sexy boy

and KNOW that he will never love me back

because I can’t play poker

or do a train robbery with him.

But then one day you’re sipping soup

in a vegan café in Williamsburg

and you burn your tongue.

You suddenly realize that the City

has been wearing slippers

and a pink robe

all along.

Meanwhile your trail dress

has been picking all the dirt

and you really should have left

your tiara home.

Rejoice.

You’re the lonely Queen

of Nothingness.

2011-04-24T19:10:00.006-04:00

And then one day you’re on the train

reading the journals written by a girl like you

exactly sixty years ago.

She’s dead now.

She has been dead for almost fifty years.

“Somehow, you could never

face yourself, quite.”

It’s on a day like this

that the hustle and bustle

seems depressingly pointless.

You meet a random New Yorker

whose nervous energy

and unpleasant manners

make you want to eat

three brownies in a row.

So you go home to paint a still life

or, let’s face it,

to waste time on the internet

since nothing matters

and never will.

2011-04-21T22:08:00.001-04:00

Today I met Ann Hamilton.

She’s playful and sweet.

She thanked me

for working on her

sculptures

and wished me luck

with Life and Art.

Nevertheless

I felt like crying all day.

As I was cleaning buckets

the projector in my brain

was showing landscapes

I had traveled through with Matthew.

On the train ride home

I kept thinking

about the woman I met yesterday

at the 14th street stop.

She urged me to buy stocks

of a company that sells LCD screens.

“This is real.

I’m only telling women.

You are going to be a millionaire.

We all are.”

2011-04-19T10:19:00.003-04:00

I just ate something

with chicken fat in it.

Wait, it gets worse.

It was a dog biscuit.

As I’m making my vegan oatmeal

I see these cracker-like things on the stove

and I don’t know better than trying a piece.

It tasted weird.

Later on

I saw my roommate

feeding them

to her happy dog.

Oh well,

forgive me, dear bird.

You were organic, I am told,

which means that maybe you saw the sun

a couple of times

before they cut your throat.

I feel like I’ve been poisoned,

but like most things

it’s just my fault.